


Tutorial

by 7PercentSolution



Series: Got My Eye on You [25]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Autistic Sherlock Holmes, Do Not Post this to any other site, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/pseuds/7PercentSolution
Summary: When Greg's nephew Sam quits university and won't talk to anyone, Sherlock solves the case.
Series: Got My Eye on You [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/339652
Comments: 37
Kudos: 92





	Tutorial

"You've got to help me; I don't know who else to turn to." Lestrade tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but he knew the consulting detective on the other end of the phone would have deduced the stress from the very first words.

"Has he said _anything_? Anything at all?"

"He walked in, heaved his luggage up the stairs and locked himself in his room. He handed Carole an envelope on his way up; when she opened it, it just said he was quitting university. He wouldn't speak to her or to Stephen. I mean, his _dad._ He won't even talk to his own father."

"How did they react?"

"Carole's in a right state. But after four days of the silent treatment, Stephen lost it last night — bashed the locked door open and told Sam he was going to be taken to the doctor if he didn't start talking."

Sherlock muttered, "Lovely, just what he needed."

"Yeah, well, his dad's now sporting a black eye. Seems that at nineteen, Sam is old enough to resist being manhandled down the stairs. Not a punch, apparently, just a flailing elbow from a teenager in meltdown."

Sherlock gave an audible sigh.

"Carole thinks he must have been bullied or something. The university doesn't know what's going on. She called his supervisor, but according to him, Sam's been doing fine on the automotive engineering course. She's been trying to tell the kid it's okay, it's alright to change his mind. The apprenticeship route is still okay, he can do that if he doesn't like the university."

"And what did he say to that?"

"Apparently, he's off cars completely. Doesn't want to do an apprenticeship or university, doesn't want to do anything. Carole says it's like twenty questions, where every answer is 'no'. He's sat in his room all day, all night staring at the ceiling. She's scared witless he's depressed and won't let anyone help."

"She called you in the hope that you'd get through?"

"Yeah, as if I could. He just looked at me, and turned his head back to the wall. I didn't even rate a 'no'. Sherlock, listen- any ideas here? I could do with some advice."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Then, "Okay, this is what you need to do…"

oOo

Greg was waiting in his car outside Colindale tube station, when Sherlock came out of the exit. He got into the passenger seat and put on the seat-belt.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah." Greg reached behind the driver's seat and pulled up a soft sided briefcase, handing it over to Sherlock. "Couldn't get his password, unless it happens to be 'no'."

That got a snort of derision from Sherlock, who pulled out the laptop and opened it. Once the screen came to life, a smirk formed. "Off cars, he said." He showed Greg the wallpaper behind the menu — a Maclaren Formula 1 race car on a grand prix track.

The sixth attempt at a password got through. Then Sherlock clicked through the browser history, scanning it quickly, starting at two weeks ago, then jumping to a month ago. Then he grunted.

"As I thought. Okay, let's go."

Lestrade looked confused. "Where?"

"Well, you know where he lives; I don't."

As Lestrade drove off, he couldn't contain his curiosity. "So, you think you know what's going on?"

"Hmmm?" Sherlock was reading something on Sam's computer, whilst he was typing something into his phone. "I'm not _thinking_ , Lestrade. I _know_. And…I know how to fix it for Sam, too. Let me just get this email off. We are lucky today's Sunday."

"Why?"

"I do hope you followed my advice and brought something good along to read."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade was a patient man, but sometimes Sherlock tried his patience to the limit.

"Not yet. Just let me see whether it will work. Until then, just… contain yourself."

Lestrade took Colindale Avenue down to the Edgware Road, turning right for a short distance before another right onto The Greenway, then left into Greenway Gardens, stopping at the fourth house along the right-hand side of the street. Lestrade turned the engine off and started to get out, but then noticed that Sherlock had not moved.

"You'll have to come in to talk to him, Sherlock."

"No, I won't. Give me the keys, Lestrade."

Greg looked at the younger man with confusion. "Why?"

"Because you are going to go in and tell Sam that I am driving and that I want him out here now."

Lestrade looked startled. "Are you saying that _you're_ going to drive my car? Sherlock, can you even drive?"

That was answered with a chuckle. The taller man got out of the car, came around it and opened Lestrade's door wider. He then reached in his suit jacket pocket and pulled out two items- both of which he handed over to the DI, who got out of the car.

Just from the shape and look of the document Greg recognised the first one as a driver's license, but he checked carefully to find Sherlock's name. The second document was even more surprising- it was an Advanced Driver's Certificate issued by the Metropolitan Police Driving School.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock- when do you do this?"

"Years ago- look at the date."

He was surprised to read it- over twelve years ago. Back when he was stoned half the time. _Jeez- the idea of a stoned Sherlock behind the wheel of a car._ The thought was …terrifying.

"Why didn't I know about this?"

"Never had any reason to tell you. I don't drive in London. I don't have a car; it's pointless. But that doesn't mean I didn't want to learn. And the AC was to show off to my brother; he had…doubts about my abilities, and implied that I had somehow extorted a pass on my driving test. So, I decided to rub his nose in it. You know as well as I do that civilians can sign up for the course."

Sherlock held his hand out. Greg handed back the two documents and the keys.

"Now, go in there and tell Sam that I'm driving and he's coming with me."

oOo

When Lestrade reappeared less than five minutes later, Sam was following him out. He looked a bit apprehensive, but he did stare at the car, or rather at the person who was behind the wheel. Greg started to go around to get in the front passenger seat, but Sherlock wound the window down and said firmly, "In the back, Lestrade. Sam, you're up front with me."

As the two got settled in place and belted up, Sherlock looked in the rear view mirror, turning it until he had eye contact with the DI. "You are a silent passenger, Lestrade, with an emphasis on the word _silent_. No talking, no commenting, no nothing. Break that rule and I will dump you on the street somewhere with that book of yours to keep you company and we'll pick you up when we're done. Got that?"

There was something rather forceful in Sherlock's tone- and Greg wasn't used to it from the younger man. But whatever was going on, it had managed to get Sam out of his bedroom for the first time in a week, so he decided to play along.

Sherlock re-adjusted the mirror carefully. He checked the side mirrors. He pushed the gear lever out of park and into drive. Each movement was methodical, almost exaggerated. The car pulled away from the curb and headed up to the top of the street where there was a turning circle. Greenway Gardens was a cul-de-sac.

"So, Sam, tell me exactly what happened on your second driving lesson."

" _NO!_ How did you… oh my God, did someone call home? I don't believe it; I didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't a crash, honest, just…" The words came out in a torrent, and then stopped. Sam had put his hands up to his mouth as if trying to stuff the words back in.

Lestrade listened as his nephew let loose the first proper words he'd said in more than a week. _At least he's got him talking again._

Sherlock continued. "Let me tell you about my second lesson, shall I? I managed to hit a deer. Well, actually the deer jumped in front of the car, broke its neck on the windscreen, on its way over the top of the roof. It smashed the windscreen and scared me so badly that I went into meltdown and I threw up in the car, well, not just the car. The person who was teaching me got covered in it, too. I swore I would never, ever get behind the wheel again. Just looking at the Landrover made me nauseated for almost a month. But, I got over it."

Sam was now looking at Sherlock, whose eyes were firmly on the road, as he swung into the turning circle, and did a three point turn with perfect ease.

"So what happened on _your_ second lesson?" Sherlock gave Sam the chance to say it again, only this time without the panic.

"I didn't _kill_ anything!" Sam's shock at Sherlock's story was clear. "It was nothing like that. I stalled the car in the middle of an intersection and the lights changed and everyone started hooting their horns and I…I...ah,just… well, I panicked. I got out of the car and I ran away."

"And that was enough to make you give up on the one thing that you have been focused on for the past six years?"

Sam sighed. "No….it was what happened later. The driving instructor came to the dorm afterwards and shouted at me to pay, saying he'd never teach me again. That's when everyone knew I couldn't drive. Then they started teasing me- about how I couldn't do automotive engineering if I couldn't even drive." His voice broke on the last word.

Greg realised that Sherlock was taking them on a reverse course- back down the Greenway, onto Edgware Road, and now they were stopped, waiting at the lights to turn left onto Colindale Road.

"And they wouldn't let it go, would they?"

Sam shook his head, miserable.

"Sam, I am not able to watch you because I need to keep my attention on the road. That means you have to talk. I can't see gestures or facial expressions. Too much else to pay attention to."

"No, they wouldn't. Little yellow stickies- you know, the post-it note things- started appearing everywhere. With a big red L on them crossed out. Like L plates. And when I found them on my chair, my computer, my dorm room, even in classrooms, they'd all start laughing at me."

As the light went green, Sherlock accelerated smoothly onto Colindale. Then he muttered, "Is this a thirty or a forty zone? Haven't seen any speed limit signs."

Without thinking, Sam answered. "Street lights- that means it's a thirty. Don't need a sign."

Sherlock smirked. "So the written test was easy, was it?"

"Yeah, a dawdle. But tests don't worry me."

"Describe your instructor to me."

"Prat. Big, fat Brummie. Thought he knew everything. Patronising bugger. Kept telling me that the only students of his that ever failed were girls. Motormouth- just about drove me crazy with all his chattering. Do this; don't do that. Watch this; you're doing this wrong." Sam put it in an exaggerating Birmingham accented voice.

They passed Colindale Tube station and then slowed at the roundabout, Sherlock watching carefully to judge when it would be safe to join the traffic. He took the fourth turn off onto Aerodrome road and then after less than a hundred yards, took a right turn into a driveway with an automatic barrier that was down. Sherlock rolled his window down so he could speak into the box that took entry passes.

"Sherlock Holmes. I made arrangements twenty minutes ago."

The barrier moved up, and Sherlock drove the Audi through into a car park that was empty of all but four cars.

Greg recognised where they were- after all, he'd spent a good number of years here as a police cadet at the Metropolitan Police Training College at Hendon. Sherlock kept going through the empty car park then around to the left and under a building that stretched across the road. This emptied into an even larger car park that was totally empty. The size of a football pitch. The car came to a halt. Sherlock switched off the engine.

"Sam, you have a choice. The passenger in the back can leave, if you would prefer it. Or not, if it makes no difference. Whichever you choose, he will continue to be silent."

Sam thought about it, then said quietly, "Uncle Greg, you won't tell mum or dad about …what you've heard?"

"No. Not if you don't want me to."

Sam nodded. "Okay. You don't have to go."

Sherlock pulled the key out of the ignition and handed it to Sam, who looked at it, confused. Then he got out of the driver's seat and walked around the car, opening Sam's door.

"Over to you."

Sam was shaking his head. "I don't know…"

"Look around you. No cars, no obstacles, nothing. No traffic lights, no pedestrians. No one watching. Well, no one but me and your uncle. You're insured by the way- anyone is in this car; it's a company car from the Met, and they have to insure it for all drivers because anyone might have to use it. As long as one of us is in the front passenger seat, you're legal. We're here as a safety net, that's all. If all you do is get in the driver's seat and turn the engine on, then that's enough."

"Well, of course I can do that." Sam sounded affronted.

Sherlock stepped aside to let Sam out, and then took his place in the passenger's seat. Sam got in and shut the driver's door, slipping the key into the ignition socket on the steering wheel. He had a hand on the wheel to make sure it unlocked as he turned the key. The engine came to life again.

"Hmm. I didn't think sequencing was an issue for you. Or was I too suggestive?"

Sam froze for a second and then slowly banged his head onto the steering wheel. "I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not. You just heard me say turn the engine on and didn't connect that to the start-up routine. Make it into a routine and it will become something you don't need to think about."

Sam sighed. He switched off and started over again. This time, the youth reached his right foot out and realised he was too far away. Adjusting the seat so he could reach both brake and accelerator pedals easily, Sam then clicked his seat belt on. He checked the rear view mirror, adjusting it take into account that he was five inches shorter than Sherlock. He checked the side mirrors, using the electric motors on the Audi to get them in the right place. Only after that did he look across at Sherlock and say "okay."

"Okay." Sherlock was looking out the front windscreen, rather than at Sam.

He put his foot on the brake, turned the key in the ignition and the engine came to life. "So, what do you want me to do next? Where should I go?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Wherever you want."

Sam looked confused. "I…um…this is not like the car I did my first lesson in."

"Nope."

"It doesn't have gears, or a clutch."

"Nope."

"So, where are the dual controls?"

"There aren't any. You don't need someone second guessing you here. Look around- there's nothing you can really do here. It's an automatic. You don't have to deal with the distractions of gear changing at the same time that you are learning how to cope with the car on the road."

Sam looked thoughtful. "No gears, no clutch…. no _stalling_."

"Nope."

"Oh, God…that makes life easier."

"Yes. So, anywhere you want."

Sam inspected the gear lever. "Wow- it even tells you where to put it. I assume D is for drive, R is for reverse, N is neutral and P is for park?"

"Yep".

Sam pushed the lever out of park into drive. He said, "I've never understood why they put the gear pattern on the top of the manual gear stick which you have to cover with your hand to use it- so you can't actually read it. It's bad design. This is better."

"That's interesting. Keep thinking about the design stuff, but only if it helps you keep focused."

"Oh. I never thought of that."

Then slowly, tentatively, the car moved forward, as Sam put his foot onto the accelerator. The car went in a straight line, picking up speed as they went. Sam turned the wheel to the right as they came to the edge and then went along the long side of the rectangular car park. Both of the adults in the car kept quiet, as Sam negotiated a somewhat erratic circuit. On the second lap, the steering became a little more confident, and the speed picked up a tiny bit.

Sherlock was watching him through peripheral vision. As they came to the end of the second lap, he asked very quietly. "Do you know what speed you are going? Don't look, just guess."

It made Sam realise that he wasn't watching the dashboard at all. He'd been so fixed on watching the road in front of the car, and then mechanically checking all three mirrors that he'd forgotten to look at the speedometer. "Um…don't know. Maybe thirty or forty?"

"Look now."

Sam glanced and saw that the car was going barely over fifteen. "Wow- that's a lot slower than I thought."

"Why do you think that's the case?"

Sam jammed on the brake. The car came to a sudden halt, and Greg was thrown forward, his seatbelt checking his forward momentum. "Because I'm stupid and really slow." The statement was full of self-loathing, and Greg's heart just pulled a bit. He remembered how chuffed he'd been to drive the first time, never realising just how terrifying it might be to someone else.

But Sherlock showed no reaction at all. "No, it's because you have no other cars around you with which to judge your own speed. That's actually why it's easier here- less to worry about. When you start, you need to find places like these."

"My instructor said the best thing was to get into the water, swim with the tide of traffic."

"Well, he's an idiot. You need someone to teach you who understands what it's like to be on the Spectrum."

"Do such people exist?" Sam let his amazement show.

"Of course. And people with far worse a problem than you get a license. So, it's no excuse unless you let it be one. The only one stopping you is you." That made Sam look at him directly. But Sherlock didn't make eye contact; he kept looking out the front windscreen. " If you're planning to stop here for a while, then put the car into neutral and put the hand brake on. Then you can relax."

Sam followed the instructions and pulled his right leg back, massaging the thigh muscle.

Sherlock continued. "If I could learn, you can learn to drive, Sam; you just have to learn differently."

"How long did it take you?"

"Almost two years. I was worse off by far than you are. And I did break my arm in the middle and had to stop for four months. Because of my visual hypersensitivity, it took me a long time to be able to cope with traffic. I was younger- probably, with hindsight, I realise I tried too young. I got distracted too easily. So, my teacher made me drive a lot in empty fields, on roads with no traffic on them, even at night, to cut down on the visual stimuli. For about the first two months, every time we stopped and I got out of the car, I'd throw up."

"Wow…that sounds awful."

"It was. There was just too much …stuff coming in, and I thought it was all important, that if I did something wrong not only would we crash, but I was going to die- and kill my passenger, too. It made me more anxious than anything I'd ever done before."

"So, why did you keep at it?"

"Because I really wanted to drive. I didn't want to be stuck relying on others. I'd ridden a bike at school, and got a bit of road sense from it. I wanted to get a motorbike, but my brother wouldn't let me. Everyone thought I'd end up killing myself. Then when I was fifteen all I wanted to do was to be able to drive my horsebox alone to the shows where I was competing*, without anyone else being involved."

Sam looked at the wheel of the Audi. "I want to drive. I _want_ to be able to feel it, to know what the design does, to understand it, that's all I've ever really wanted to do. But, I was so rubbish at it. I just got scared and ran away like…like some …" he paused and almost whispered it, "…retard. I've never been so ashamed in my life." He sounded like he was going to cry.

"Why don't you head under that building into the first car park?" Sherlock pointed toward the place where they had come into the space. Sam took a deep breath, put the car into drive, put his foot on the brake, and took the handbrake off and started the car forward again, trying to finish the long side of the circuit, before slowing down to go along the road under the building. He kept the car right in the middle of the road, as if not trusting himself to get too close to the pillars at either side.

Once they were out of under the building, Sam's shoulders relaxed a bit, and Greg saw him take a huge gulp of air in.

"Okay. Stop here for a moment, but leave the engine on. How do you make sure it's safe?"

Sam came to a stop, put the car into neutral and then pulled the hand brake up.

"Just relax. Close your eyes, take your hands off the wheel and take a couple of deep breaths."

Sam followed the instructions, and Greg watched some more of the tension go out of the boy's shoulders.

"We're going to swap places for a few minutes. Give you a bit of a break. The key is not to do anything for too long." Sherlock got out and Sam did, too, swapping sides again. Once they were in the other seat, Sherlock continued. "Most driving instructors are paid by the hour, so people try to pack too much in. We can't do that- leads to anxiety levels that just creep up until something little sets you off. So an instructor who knows what you're like will break it up a lot into smaller stints, make you take a lot of little breaks. That doesn't mean you stop learning. You just do something different. Like this…"

Sherlock pulled the hand brake off and then put the car into drive. "Close your eyes. Listen to the engine. I want you to tell me when the car is changing up and changing down gears. Feel what the car is doing, and the sound of the engine. You will start to learn what the revs sound like and the vibrations feel like so that you don't have to look at the dashboard, you'll just know how fast you are driving. "

Almost as soon as the car moved off, Sam almost shouted- "There- it just went from first to second gear."

"You're the expert, tell us what the transmission is doing."

And Sam did- he proceeded to spout detailed information about the Audi's direct shift gearbox which was a dual clutch automatic transmission. The flow of dense technical stuff was only broken each time the car shifted up or down as Sherlock drove the perimeter of the College campus, down Cottenham drive, past the playing fields to Denmark Hill Drive, and then back up north towards Aerodrome Road. At every turn and every change of engine pitch, Sam gave a running commentary of rev counts and transmission shifts.

The car came to a halt at the start of the short course that Greg recognised from his training days. All detectives had to pass the Advanced Driver's test- getting across London in traffic when life or death was at stake meant you had to be able to drive defensively but knowing where and when to bend the rules. The course was usually populated with other cars, but on a Sunday afternoon it was empty. There were lots of turns, corners, pedestrian crossings, even a stop sign or two.

"Your turn." Sherlock switched places with Sam again. As they got settled into their seats again, he explained. "Just stay inside the lines, Sam. There are no cars to distract you; it's just a case of getting the feel of where you are on the road. You will need _hours_ of practice on this. But, with time, you will get it."

Twenty minutes later, after almost as many laps of the little circuit, Sam was beaming. "It gets easier every time."

"Yes, it does, but don't get too cocky. The trouble is, you are getting used to it- this is becoming familiar and therefore you can relax a bit. Out on the real road, it's always changing. Even the same bit of road. You think you know it and then suddenly it's completely different. It can be the weather. The first time it rained when I was driving, I had to stop and let my instructor drive home- too many things changed- the sound of the tires on the road, the feel of the car. The smeared windscreen, the sound of the wipers. It was all too much. For you, one of the challenges will be to keep your focus on the road, and not get overly excited about the car stuff."

Sam's eyes widened. "I always thought my knowledge would _help_ ; you think it might…. get in the way somehow?"

"I'm just saying it might. You could get so wrapped up in hearing what the engine's doing that you miss a pedestrian crossing the road in front of you. So, you'll have to practice a lot, and with a driver who understands your particular issues. Everyone on the Spectrum is different. If you don't like the first instructor, try another one. I'll give you a list to take back with you. I know some people in Birmingham that I trust."

"Who says I'm going back to Birmingham?"

"Says the man driving this car."

Sam shook his head. "Maybe, after I pass. But…I don't think I can face them…the guys, all taunting me. It makes me feel so…stupid."

"You want to study so you can get to work on the cars that will be your life. You made that decision. Don't let anyone else tell you differently. Their picking on you about driving is getting in the way. So, when you go back, start lessons. When you're home in the summer, then you can really go at it. Learn on streets that will become as familiar to you as your favourite Maclaren car schematics. Learn the quirks — the pedestrians, the buses, the lights, where there are likely to be surprises. I'm not saying it will be easy and I'm not saying it will be quick. But with the right teacher, you'll make it. Now let me take over for a minute."

Sam got out and Sherlock took the wheel. He drove down Peel Drive to Cottenham Drive again and then headed as if going back to the first car park, where the lesson had started. Before he got there, however, he stopped.

"There's another reason why you're going to go back. Because if anybody starts being horrible to you, just tell them that one of the first things you ever learned how to do in a car is a three sixty spin on a skid pan. If that doesn't shut them up, then nothing will."

Sam's eyes went wide as saucers. "Really? You think I could learn that _now_?! How is that even possible?"

"Because it's actually a _lot_ easier than driving in traffic. It's illegal to do it on the road, unless you are the police." Here he shot a look at Lestrade on the back seat. "Under controlled circumstances like these, with nothing to distract you, it's just you and the car. And it's important to remember something —a very important something —to help keep you going through all the horrible bits, the boring repetition, the mistakes and the hassles of learning."

"What's that?" Sam was almost breathless with excitement.

"That driving is _fun_!" Sherlock looked over at the teenager and grinned. "Now watch very carefully. I'm going to accelerate into that skid pan so when I reach the centre we'll be going about fifty, then I will turn the wheel hard until it locks, and pull the handbrake up all the way. It's got to be a smooth movement that sets the car into the spin, and then you have to give it just enough petrol or we won't manage to complete the full circle." Sherlock looked through the rear-view mirror to catch Lestrade's amused eye. "Are you ready? Then hang on," as he hit the accelerator hard and Sam gave a whoop of delight as the Audi took off.

**Author's Note:**

> Learning to drive when you're on the Spectrum is tough. But, with the right instructor, it's not only possible, it's life changing. Google it and you will be surprised how easy it is to find an instructor with experience of doing so. 
> 
> * If you want to know why Sherlock was so keen to drive his horsebox (and about his teenage experiences as an Eventer) then read my story Musgrave Blaze and the sequel, DeFrag.


End file.
